Why Oh Why Oh Why Oh Why for the love of Christmas am I churning out this trite “What To Buy Your Weird Writer Friend For The Holidays” blahg that populates every nook and cranny of the blog-o-sphere this week? Because if I don’t, a black, windowless van will pull up to my place, then three will men get out, kick down my door and storm inside. Two of them will rough me up, push me to the floor and stand on my neck while the third spray paints filthy epithets all over my walls. Then they will jam my fear-soiled underpants into the paper shredder and leave. That’s why. Lotta people don’t know that. Dangerous business, writing. Continue reading
Lets get this straight from jumpstreet. The only time you shouldn’t be writing is when you’re sleeping or dead (and no, showering is no excuse, you lazy turd. Ever hear of waterproof pens?!?).
If that is, you are a flawless FUEL INJECTED TURBO CHARGED WORD SPEWING MACHINE. If you are, good for you. Asshole.
But you’re not. You’re a broke-down hoopdie with a bad carburator and a droopy tailpipe. It’s why you’re here, hiding out from the writing matrons in your head like moody Goth teenagers behind the high school gym. Continue reading
We’re as ubiquitous to the profession as a Weenie Bite Competition is to a Biker Rally: Non-writing writers. The corpses of our stillborn ideas and best intentions lay dying a slow death in computer file folders across the land. They languish, starved and forgotten in the yellowed pages of countless notebooks. They haunt the collective creative consciousness of us all; not quite dead, but not among the living either. We are the slobbering, warty bridge trolls who live in self-imposed exile beneath the literary highway overpass; a highway traveled by those far better than us. And by far better, I don’t mean smarter or more gifted or funnier or more educated or better looking (though don’t rule it out); Continue reading